4_The Client by John Grisham

Author:John Grisham
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2010-09-27T23:00:00+00:00

"We call it a detention center," she said.

"What's the difference?"

This seemed to irritate her. "Listen, Mark, we get all kinds of smart mouths up here, okay. You'll get along much better if you keep your mouth shut." She leaned into his face with these words of warning, and her breath was stale cigarettes and black coffee.

"I'm sorry," he said, and his eyes watered. It suddenly hit him. He was about to be locked in a room far away from his mother, far away from Reggie.

"Follow me," Doreen said, proud of herself for restoring a little authority to the relationship. She whisked away with a ring of keys dangling and rattling from her waist. They opened a heavy wooden door and started through a hallway with gray metal doors spaced evenly apart on both sides of the corridor. Each little room had a number beside it. Doreen stopped at Number 1§ and unlocked it with one of her keys. "In here," she said.

Mark walked in slowly. The room was about twelve feet wide and twenty feet long. The lights were

bright and the carpet was clean. Two bunk beds were to his right. Doreen patted the top bunk. "You can have either bed," she said, ever the hostess. "Walls are cinder block and windows are nonbreakable, so don't try anything." There were two windows—one in the door and one above the lavatory, and neither was big enough to stick his head through. "Toilet's over there, stainless steel. Can't use ceramic anymore. Had a kid break one and slice his wrists with a piece of it. But that was in the old building. This place is much nicer, don't you think?"

It's gorgeous, Mark almost said. But he was sinking fast. He sat on the bottom bunk and rested his elbows on his "knees. The carpet was pale green, the same type of commercial blend he'd been studying at the hospital.

"You okay, Mark?" Doreen asked without the slightest trace of sympathy. This was her job.

"Can I call my mother?"

"Not yet. You can make a few calls in about an hour."

"Well, can you call her and just tell her I'm okay? She's worried sick."

Doreen smiled and the makeup cracked around her eyes. She patted his head. "Can't do it, Mark. Regulations. But she knows you're fine. My goodness, you'll be in court in a couple of hours."

"How long do kids stsy in here?"

"Not long. A few weeks occasionally, but this is sort of a holding area until the kids are processed and either sent back home or to a training school." She was rattling her keys. "Listen, I have to go now. The door locks automatically when it's closed, and if it opens without my little key here, then an alarm goes off and

mere s Dig trouble. So don't get any ideas, okay, Mark?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Can I get you anything?"

"A telephone."

"In just a little while, okay."

Doreen closed the door behind her. There was a loud click, then silence.

He stared at the doorknob for a long time. This didn't seem like jail.

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